


Like Embers in the Wind

by SweatersAndScarves (SlaveToMyKeyboard)



Series: After Earth [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Fluff and Angst, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Gill!Kat, Human/Troll Hybrids, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Anguish, Multi, No Retcon AU, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Pale-Red Vacillation, Panic Attacks, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shoosh-Papping, Survivor Guilt, The Dancestors Are Assholes, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6222601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlaveToMyKeyboard/pseuds/SweatersAndScarves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone was tired after the game. Everyone looked like shit and felt even worse. Everyone was too busy thinking about the big picture to bother with thinking about relationships. But sometimes, you've got to start small before you can really think big, especially when the small happens to be in the form of a sea-dweller that is teetering dangerously close to the edge of his sanity.</p><p>A Fic set very early in my After Earth AU, where we find out exactly how Karkat ended up flipping every shade of red under the sun for a sea-dweller, and he realises that it’s not as bad as he thought it would be.</p><p>Also known as "How It Fucking Happened" by Vantas-ThinkPan Productions.</p><p>Also known as "An author procrastinates hardcore by writing self-indulgant fics when she should be doing coursework or updating her existing works."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

HOW IT FUCKING HAPPENED

*

A VANTAS-THINKPAN PRODUCTION

STARRING

KARKAT ‘I FIX EVERYONE’S SHIT EXCEPT MY OWN’ VANTAS

ALSO FEATURING

ERIDAN ‘SEA-DWELLERS DON’T FUCKIN’ CRY’ AMPORA

WITH CAMEOS FROM

SOLLUX ‘EMOTIONS CAN SUCK MY ASS’ CAPTOR

DAVE ‘TOO COOL FOR QUADRANTS’ STRIDER

CRONUS AMPORA, WHO DOESN’T DESERVE A TITLE

AND

A CERTAIN RELATIVE OF THE STAR WHO WILL NOT BE NAMED

AMONG OTHER WASTES OF SPACE THAT PASS FOR FUNCTIONAL LIVING BEINGS

*

FUCKING ENJOY, YOU UNGRATEFUL PIECE OF SHIT.

You stare at the fire crackling in the middle of your camp, watching sparks jump from the flames in hopes of starting their own blaze, only to land in the sandy pit around the burning logs and fizzle out with a miserable puff of smoke. You can sympathise with them; having so much potential and then wasting it because you couldn’t go far enough. Then you remember that the only ‘potential’ you ever had was snuffed out as soon as your little mutant egg was expelled by the mother grub, and that in fact those embers are luckier than you are because the wind is picking up and that dead tree over there looks awfully fucking flammable tonight.

The fire endures your glare for a few more minutes, then you get up and wander over to the lab, hands shoved deep into your pockets. Currently, the lab from the meteor is the only actual building on this planet, and anyone who doesn’t want to live in there has to deal with a tent outside during the day, or any other makeshift shelter they can be bothered to find for themselves. You can hear Strider talking to some of the girls in the computer block, and promptly turn in the opposite direction, heading into what used to be the genetics lab. The screens are always on now for some reason, casting shadows onto the walls through shattered glass containers and broken metal structures.

There’s too many bad memories in this place. You shiver and decide to leave the lab altogether, thankfully managing to slip back out without anyone knowing you were there in the first place. This is mostly how you operate nowadays, skulking around until some unsuspecting shit hits the fan and you have to sort out someone else’s issues, which usually involves shouting at them until they either shut up and listen or just fuck off somewhere else. You’ve stopped caring which one happens first. It’s not all that different from being on the meteor, except now you have Egbert and your dancestor, Captain Windbag, to share the leadership duties with. Honestly, you end up saddled with most of the problems though; John is too busy being enamoured with his new Troll body and Kankri is well… Kankri.

Speaking of the unstoppable word tsunami, there he is now, doing what he does best; lecturing someone. Sollux to be exact, the poor fellow. You should probably go and see what’s up.

“… and just because you feel some sort of caliginous attraction towards someone does not mean that you have to immediately attack them in a way that might come off as hurtful or triggering if they do not reciprocate your feelings –”

“But I don’t –! And he –! _Fuck_!” Sollux splutters, letting a shower of sparks go on the last word. They must have been going at this for a while.

Kankri flinches, but doesn’t back down, “I do not appreciate that language Sollux, and I also do not appreciate being interrupted with such an incoherent argument before I had even been given a chance to finish voicing my side of the discussion.”

He takes a breath to continue, but you cut him off, “Hey, why don’t you go bother someone from your own session.”

He frowns, turning to you with his arms folded, “Karkat that was incredibly rude, I was simply trying to expand my social repertoire and educate young Captor here on how to properly interact with his peers in a manner that causes the least distress to either party.”

Sollux growls at being called ‘young Captor’ and you can’t blame him, but you sidle closer in preparation of holding him back anyway, because you are _not_ having anyone die on you again.

“Look, I can handle this,” You tell Kankri, “and besides, we’re not wigglers, we don’t need someone telling us how to talk to each other.”

Your dancestor quirks an eyebrow, “Oh, so you expect me to just walk by and let a fledgling sea Troll receive emotional torment from one of his peers?”

You tilt your head, taken aback by Kankri’s question, “What?”

“Young Ampora over there,” Kankri gestures to a tree, where you can see Eridan sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, “do you think he appreciates it when people ignore the fact that he is being verbally assaulted at a time when we should all be trying to get along.”

A familiar guilt settles its weight on your blood pusher and your scalp prickles, hair standing on end as Sollux gets more riled up beside you. This conversation needs to be over ASAP.

“Okay, fine,” You huff, “but like I said, I can handle this, so go and make sure _your_ friends aren’t doing anything stupid alright?”

For a moment Kankri looks like he’s going to argue, and you can feel your blood pressure rising with every thrum of your pulse.

But then instead, he nods and says, “Very well, but I have been dealing with problems such as this for multiple lifetimes worth of sweeps, far longer than you, and I do have some area of expertise, particularly with spats between Captors and Amporas, so do not hesitate to ask if you require my assistance.” Then leaves with one last haughty glance at both of you.

Thank Fuck. ‘Area of expertise’, yeah whatever you say Kankri, that probably means ‘talking to the people arguing until they find mutual ground over a hatred of your voice’. You guess that’s one way to go about Auspisticising though. Not that you’re planning to be ashen with anyone, you’ve got too much shit to do and quadrants would just get in the way.

You let out a sigh of relief and turn to Sollux, “I don’t care what you said, and I don’t care why you said it, just do as _I’ve_ said like a billion fucking times already, and stay. Away. From Eridan.”

He grumbles and rolls his eyes, psionics still crackling as he plods over to the lab. Fucking seriously, Sollux used to whine to you about how Eridan wouldn’t leave him alone, and now here he is starting shit with him. It’s unbelievable how stupid some of your friends are; it’s only been two weeks – fourteen measly Goddamn nights – and things are already starting to fall apart.

You calm yourself with a deep breath, then make your way over to the miserable sea-dweller. Even though Feferi has forgiven him, and Kanaya said that they’re even so she won’t hold a grudge (much), Sollux apparently doesn’t remember his little moment of ‘forgiveness’ and the only memories he has after dying are those from Erisolsprite. Which, you’re going to be honest, isn’t the best, because a lot of those memories involve hating himself, hating Eridan, and fighting with Eridan in their own mutant brain whilst simultaneously learning each other’s every weakness – mental and physical.

At first you were worried that there would just be a repeat of what happened before, except ten times worse because now these assholes have legitimate reasons to hate each other instead of just immature jealousy. But whenever an argument starts, Eridan doesn’t fight back. He growls and glares and bites his lip until it bleeds, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t cry or make a fuss; just takes everything that’s thrown at him and then walks away with it, or flat out ignores it as if Sollux isn’t even there.

That’s what he’s doing right now, staring a hole through the grass like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world and the only part of this shithole that matters. You watch him for a moment, notice the way he’s scratching absent-mindedly at the back of his hand even though it’s already tinted purple and covered in cuts. Highbloods are supposed to get angry and lash out at other people, hurt _other people_ , not _themselves_. You could deal with another murderous purple-blood; you stopped Gamzee, and you’ve been thinking about how you would have handled Eridan differently the first time and you’re totally prepared for if it happens again. But _this_ never crossed your pan.

“I’m fine.” He says before you can decide what to do, not taking his eyes off of the ground in front of him.

You flinch because fuck, you weren’t expecting him to speak, but if he notices then he doesn’t say anything.

“No, you’re not.” You say, sitting down on the patch of Earth that’s holding his attention so firmly.

He looks off in a different direction, leaving his hand alone to pull his knees tighter against his chest. “Yes, I am.”

“No Eridan, you’re not,” Shit you almost growled that. Keep calm Karkat, shouting doesn’t work with him, you know this. You relax your jaw and continue in a softer tone, “now tell me what Sollux said to you.”

His eyes flicker to you, then away again, and he shakes his head.

“Could you not understand him because of his lisp? Don’t worry, I have the same problem.” You say, praying that a little joke at Captor’s expense will cheer the sea Troll up.

He frowns, and you cringe because you totally fucked that up. But then he lets out a little bark of laughter, the sort of dejected ‘ _ha_ ’ that usually crops up in movies after a character makes an idiot of themselves, but at least it’s something. You reach out to put a hand on his arm, and he finally makes proper eye contact with you.

Everyone is tired in this new world, everyone looks like a hoofbeast’s ass, everyone needs a good day’s sleep in a recuperacoon and to not worry about if they’re actually safe or if Jack or English are going to come back. But with dark rings under his bloodshot eyes, fins drooped and as pale as the rest of him, scraggly hair pushed back lazily, and bite marks on his lip, Eridan looks possibly the worst you have ever seen him. He’s missing a good portion his rings too, and you’re pretty sure his cape is only hanging limply around his shoulders to act as a wind shield. Even after everything with Feferi, even when he came back from LOWAA covered in cuts and angels blood, he always cared about his appearance. But this is just… Weird.

The grumpy little asshole in your pan who hasn’t slept for three nights tells you to say “You look like shit dude”, but you zip his mouth shut because that is definitely not what Eridan needs to hear right now.

“He wwas talkin’ about wwhat happened ovver there,” He says flatly, nodding in the direction of the lab, “afore the game ended.”

For the love of every God that has ever existed. _Why_? Why did Sollux bring that up after you specifically told everyone to _not_ mention it? _Especially_ in front of those who didn’t survive until the end. You could just ring that yellow-blood’s scrawny little neck for this.

“Kar?”

Eridan’s voice draws attention to the fact that your claws are almost piercing through his shirt, so you quickly release his arm.

“Sorry.”

He shrugs, “’S fine.”

‘ _It is NOT fine! God FUCK! If you say fine one more time I’m going to shove my sickle up your ass and then we’ll see how FINE you are!_ ’ You promptly take that little mental outburst and lock it away with the others.

“Want to talk about it?” You ask instead.

He shakes his head, and the guilt knotting inside of you gives another sharp twist. You never thought you’d say this, but you really wish you could go back to having Eridan bother you with his problems every five minutes, because at least then you knew what was going on up in that pan of his. Now it’s like trying to decipher your old encryption modus, dragging answers out of him only to get distracted by another problem before you’ve gotten to the root of what’s bothering him. Actually you think this ten-minute conversation is the longest you’ve spent with him alone since the Universe reset, which makes you feel like the worst person in every world there’s ever been, especially considering you were actually thinking about trying something pale with him for a while. Oh God, then there’s your pact. Every time you think you’ve forgiven yourself for that, the pity always comes surging back.

You don’t have time for quadrants, you’re not a good Moirail, you can’t be an Auspistice because you’ll just end up part of the problem. No matter how many times you repeat these to yourself, they just don’t stick in your pan.

Your palmhusk – you mean ‘phone’ – vibrates, and you pull it out to check it, if only to stop yourself from staring awkwardly at Eridan.

GC: H3Y K4RKL3S

GC: W3’R3 T4LK1NG 4BOUT SOM3TH1NG 1N TH3 COMPUT3R BLOCK 4ND W3 N33D YOUR 1NPUT

GC: TH1NK YOU COULD SP4R3 SOME T1M3? >:P

Of course they need you there, when _don’t_ they need you to come and supervise their bulgepanned decisions?

“Hey, I need to go and check that the others are actually fucking paying attention to what I tell them,” You tell Eridan, who just looks at you out of the corner of his eyes, “but I’ll be back later, so if you want to talk some more just be here in a few hours okay?”

He nods.

CG: FINE WHATEVER I’LL BE RIGHT THERE, JUST DON’T DO ANYTHING STUPID IN THE MEANTIME.

You give Eridan a few more seconds to ask you to stay, then get up and head over to the lab. This is going to be awful, you can just feel it.

***

Three hours of arguing and discussion later, and you’ve finally compromised with Strider on where to put the coffee machine. Of course that wasn’t the entire point of your conversation – you were actually deciding how to begin on building new living quarters for everyone – but for some reason the coffee machine in the planned communal hall seemed to cause the most problems.

You run a hand through your hair as you leave the lab and return to the fire. You’re not sure if you should be worried or relieved when you see that Eridan isn’t there. It’s not that unusual; he spends most of his time alone nowanights anyway, trying to avoid talking to Feferi or Kanaya or pretty much anyone really. It’s not good for him mentally, but it isn’t doing anyone harm. He’ll come to you when he’s ready you guess.

***

You make sure to check up on everyone more often from then on, but it’s difficult when there are a thousand other things fighting for your attention. Planning out hives and houses, finding the alchemical code for construction drones, alchemising enough building material, keeping food stocks up, trying to recreate sopor – which for some reason is basically fucking impossible. You know, basic stuff, the essential requirements of a new civilisation, or at least just a Goddamn collection of dwellings that barely qualifies as a village, you’d settle for that too. Egbert has finally stepped up now that he’s used to being two-thirds Troll – only took him like half a fucking perigee – and as much as you don’t want to admit it, he’s not a bad co-leader, as long as Jade is there to Auspisticise when required. It’s not official or anything, but that’s probably the best description for what she spends most of your meetings doing. You can get into quadrants with the humans later, they’ve already had the anatomy schoolfeeds shoved down their throats, they don’t need the reproduction ones just yet.

Speaking of that, Kanaya has just told you that the matriorb is getting close to hatching. You’re equal parts relieved and terrified, because after that hurdle is over, her duties will change from watching a spiky ball to caring for some weird-ass grub. Her dancestor has been helping out where she can – or where Kanaya will let her – but like all of those Beforan assholes, Porrim isn’t exactly a first-rate example of her caste. But you’re not a jade-blood, so who are you to dictate the needs of the future mother grub and who fulfils them? You guess by that logic Jade should be involved too. You shudder at the thought of Harley caring for anything other than a plant, especially since she’s still part barkbeast.

All in all, things aren’t going as badly as you expected, and on the twentieth night since your arrival in this new Universe, you find yourself with some _free time_. You know, you know, that sounds batshit insane considering the circumstances, but it’s true, you actually have a fucking moment to yourself at last. You decaptchalogue a book that Rose recommended to you, then settle down in the shade of a tree and begin to read. It’s been a while since you actually read a book from cover to cover, but this one intrigued you, as Rose said that it was an example of what may constitute a blackrom relationship in Humans. You’re not seeing it so far, but you’re going to persevere. For educational purposes obviously.

You get half an hour of undisturbed alone time. Half. An. Hour. That’s all you get before you’re interrupted by a crack of psionics and your blood pusher jumping into your throat. You captchalogue the book and jump up, searching for one of the Captors and praying that it isn’t yours. Thankfully, your prayers are answered for once in your life, and Sollux strolls up behind you just as you set your gander bulbs on his dancestor. Mituna is standing with his arms at his sides, sparks crackling down them as he screams something at an equally aggravated Cronus Ampora. The sea Troll’s fins are flushed violet and spread as far as they can go, standing forwards along with the front section of his hair in a clear threat display. It would be funny if he didn’t look like he was genuinely about to strangle someone.

“Hey KK.” Sollux is remarkably calm as he watches alongside you, leaning a bony elbow on your shoulder.

“Hi guys,” Terezi appears on your other side, “what are they arguing about now?”

You shrug, both in response to Terezi and to stop Sollux from leaving a bruise.

“Probably quadrantth again.” He says, folding his arms after reluctantly relieving you of your job as an arm rest.

“Again?” You question, immediately regretting it with the smirk he gives you.

“They’re trying to thtart up a blackrom but thingth alwayth get too perthonal,” He replies, dancing around the word Kismessitude because his lisp butchers it beyond recognition, “I keep trying to tell Tuna to drop it but it’th like he enjoyth it or thomething.”

Gets a kick out of arguing eh? That sound suspiciously similar to another four-horned Troll that you know. You raise an eyebrow at said Troll – and he can definitely see you at least in his peripherals – but he ignores it.

“Oh look, here comes the ashen brigade.” Terezi chuckles, grinning wide as both of your ancestors arrive on the scene.

You debate walking away because this will probably be the most horrific thing you’ve seen recently, but you might as well stay so you’re kept in the loop in case this thing blows up. Latula immediately rushes to her Matesprit’s side, trying to calm him without getting herself shocked, whilst Kankri starts talking to Cronus even though the sea-dweller obviously isn’t listening. This is going to end so badly.

“They have such a weird relationship.” You mumble, frowning at the way both placatory efforts fail spectacularly, leading to yet another shouting match, this time between all four of them.

Sollux scoffs, “Which oneth?”

“Fucking all of them; Pyrope is trying to be her Matesprit’s Moirail, Kankri is making the poorest attempt at Auspisticising I have ever seen – and I’ve watched some real disasters – whilst also being so obviously pale for fins mcsleazy over there that he shouldn’t be going anywhere near his ashen quadrant, not to mention the fact that _none_ of them are even fucking listening to each other.” You huff, wincing as a bolt of psionics narrowly misses carving a hole in Kankri’s sweater, “I mean look at that, we might as well be placing bets on who comes out alive.”

“Mituna.” Sollux and Terezi say in unison.

“You’re both awful.” You tell them, showing your disapproval with a glare to both parties. “But yeah, psionics always win because they’re fucking cheaters.”

“It’th not cheating,” Sollux begins, taking a breath to continue when a particularly loud crack cuts him off.

You look back just in time to watch a second blast hit Ampora square in the stomach, sending him flying backwards in a flash of bi-coloured light. Someone yelps, something breaks, and then there’s a hole where there was once a window into the lab. Well that escalated quickly. Kankri is sitting on the grass, apparently too shocked to move as he stares at the destruction, and Latula seems to be in a similar position, her hands hovering shakily above her Matesprit’s arm. Then a shred of violet cloth floats down by the rubble and panic floods your pan, because you thought you recognised that high-pitched screech but it couldn’t have been Eridan, but there’s a part of his cape and _shit you need to get over there._

You’re the first to actually move, sprinting over to the door of the lab and skidding inside to assess the damage. The blast broke through into a hallway just by the entrance, leaving the sea-dwellers sprawled out on the floor like ragdolls. You freeze and hold your breath – shit fuck shit you messed up, you let them die and it’s all your fucking fault – then they both groan and you’re so relieved you almost lose the ability to stand. Leaning on the wall for support, you wobble your way over to Eridan and crouch down beside him.

“Holy shit, are you okay?”

“Yeah, thanks for askin’.” Cronus mumbles, pulling himself to his feet.

“Not _you_ asswipe.” You growl, helping Eridan sit up.

Cronus growls back at you and then limps off, probably to ask Kankri to play physician for him. You watch him as he goes, feeling a little bad for snapping when you notice the blood on his shirt. Ah fuck it, he’s not your problem. Sea-dwellers are resilient and there’s no way that was a full-power blast, he’ll be fine by tomorrow.

“Are you okay?” You ask Eridan again as he examines his cracked glasses.

“Yeah,” He replies hoarsely, “I think so.”

You sigh and rest your hand on his shoulder. You didn’t fuck up, they’re both fine, nobody died. He gives up trying to straighten his glasses and swaps them for a new pair from his Sylladex. But after he puts them on it’s like they’ve let him see ghosts or something. His eyes go wide and he shrinks back against the wall, claws digging into his knees as he pulls his legs close to his body.

“Eridan?”

You squeeze his shoulder and he flinches, a little whimper escaping as he stares at you with his fins pinned back in fear. Then you move again and he scrabbles out of your grasp.

“Hey what’s –” You cut yourself off mid-sentence.

You know exactly what’s wrong. He hasn’t set foot in the lab since you got here, and he winces at the mere mention of it. But now he’s been forcibly thrown back into the place where he lost his life and took two others – he’s going to flip his shit so hard that it’ll break the handle.

“It’s okay,” You say quietly, putting your hands out, “I can take you out of here.”

He shakes his head and whines, crawling backwards as you get closer, until he finally jumps up and runs.

God. Fucking. Dammit.


	2. Chapter 2

“Eridan?” You call out his name as you jog through the halls, popping your head into every block you pass.

You’re not sure if it’s better or worse that the lab’s transportilisers are broken, because whilst it means that you have a pretty linear path to follow, you’re getting worn out and have literally no idea where you’re going. Also, turns out that a panicked sea-dweller can run really fucking fast, which makes you almost glad that you’re the one chasing him and not the other way around. Only almost though, because you’d prefer to not be doing this at all. You reach the top of a flight of stairs and slump against the wall, trying to slow your own breathing so you can listen out for signs of movement nearby, and y’know, not have a fucking pusher attack. Jegus, you really need to fix your fucking abhorrent lack of stamina.

“Karcrab?”

Feferi walks down the hallway towards you, her soft features puckered into an unusually worried frown.

You push away from the wall and stand up, relieved that you’ve got your breath back enough to form a coherent sentence, “Hey, have you seen Eridan?”

“He went that way,” She replies, pointing back down the hall, “but he looked kind of scared, is he alright?”

‘Kind of scared’? Either Eridan has done a spectacular job at calming himself down, or you can now see how Feferi misread his emotions for sweeps. You thank her – ignoring her question because you genuinely don’t know – and set off in a brisk walk to follow her directions. After a couple of minutes, you start to recognise things; Terezi’s faded drawings, scars in the walls and floor from various spats. You’re a couple of storeys up by now, only two below the roof. You know where he’s gone.

A few passed doors and a left turn later, you find yourself standing outside Eridan’s block. You debate knocking, but as your fist hovers awkwardly in front of the door, you realise that it’s already open just a crack. Also that the lock is broken, the metal buckling around the screws holding it in place. Shit, he must have slammed it pretty hard to do that.

You cautiously push it open, “Hello?” you ask in a hushed voice, stepping inside when nobody answers, “Eridan?”

There’s still no actual reply, but a quick scope of the block is all you need to find him; curled up in a corner with his palms pressed over his ears and his eyes squeezed shut, shaking all over and breathing in short gasps like there’s not enough air. Okay so he’s not any calmer than before, in fact you think he looks worse – probably from seeing Feferi. You take a few steps forwards and he curls in on himself further, even though you’re pretty sure he has no idea you’re there. Fuck, what did Rose’s psychology book say about panic attacks? You read that book cover to cover because you were so bored, and the one time it finally comes in handy all remanence of it is sinking out of your pan with every other useful piece of information.

You take a deep breath so that you don’t panic yourself, and ignore the sickening pity twisting at your gut to try and focus on remembering. Don’t startle them, it definitely said that, and if it didn’t then it’s just common sense because what kind of fucked up asshole scares someone who’s having a panic attack?

You walk forwards a little more, “Hey,” you say, your tone as soft as you can make it, “it’s okay.” You drop to your knees and shuffle the last foot or so, until you’re within touching distance.

But you don’t touch him because you’re pretty sure the book said that too. At least you don’t have to try and prise the root of the problem out of him; that part is pretty fucking obvious. Then he drops a hand from one of his fins and reaches out to you, his fingers closing around yours with an iron grip as soon as you make contact. His skin is freezing and kind of clammy – no pun intended – but you squeeze back a little to let him know you’re there.

“I know you’re scared,” You tell him, the fuzzy words on the pages in your memory gradually coming back into focus, “but it’s going to be fine.” God you’re so bad at this.

He digs his claws into your palm, which fucking hurts, but you don’t say anything because you’re not a wiggler and it would be just plain insensitive. Then a particularly sharp breath leaves him coughing out what little air he’s actually managing to take in, and just as you’re thinking how painful that sounded, your pan manages to locate the page of the book that mentioned breathing.

“I need you to breathe with me,” You say, surprised by the composure in your voice, “in through your nose, out through your mouth, can you do that?”

He nods, trying his hardest to take a decent inhale as you count aloud “in two three, out two three” slowly in time with the movement of your own thoracic cavity. After what seems like an eternity of you counting to yourself whilst Eridan practically hyperventilates, he finally gets over half a lungful of air, then lets it rush shakily out of his mouth in time with yours. Then after some more little gasps, his breathing matches up with yours again, and you almost lose your rhythm with a sigh of relief. He’s still shaking and holding your hand as if you’re a lifeline, but when you stop counting aloud, he manages to keep on taking relatively normal breaths.

“Is there um, do you need anything?” You ask, feeling this odd mix of pride and uncertain helplessness.

He opens his eyes slightly and tugs on your hand, holding out his other arm to you, and when you grasp that hand he pulls you closer before letting go. You carefully put one arm around his shoulders, twining your fingers with his on the hand he’s still holding and trying not to think about all the cuts you can feel across his knuckles. He huddles up against you, pressing his face into your shoulder as the tremors begin to settle.

“Shh,” You whisper, beginning to rub slow circles into his back, “shh, it’s okay.”

You can feel him going limp against you, the muscles in his back relaxing with every expansion of the thoracic cavity underneath them. Now that you’re not on the verge of freaking out yourself, you realise how awfully pale all of this is. Then you decide that it’s not awful because a, you don’t have a Moirail anymore, and b, you kind of went into auto-pilot because you’ve thought about having Eridan pale more often than you’d like to admit and it just feels… Natural. Having this sea-dweller who should be terrifying and unbreakable, all curled up and so small against you without his fancy cape or bad attitude, it feels right. Not Eridan being upset obviously, there’s nothing you’d like more than for this to have not happened at all, but maybe if you were just snuggling…

You prise your hand out of his, pressing a gentle pap to his cheek after he whimpers at the loss of contact. His fin flutters a little when you run your thumb along his cheekbone, and he clutches at your shirt with both hands, wriggling to get closer to you at the expense of his glasses being pushed all the way up his forehead. You take them off and place them on the floor, then resume drawing gentle lines over the side of his face. A chirr bubbles in your throat, and at first you try to hold back, but then Eridan nuzzles your neck and it comes out anyway, albeit half-strangled. You let the next one through without protest, and Eridan makes a quiet noise in reply, so soft and forlorn that it makes your insides flip flop all over the place. You can almost feel the pity digging its talons into every inch of your body, tugging hard and then rooting deeper.

Another sound crackles in your chest and this time you don’t try to stop it. Eridan tenses, his grip on your shirt changing to a pair of arms locked around your waist. You rub your cheek against his head and purr louder, bringing up a hand to run it through the back of his hair. You’re used to the feel and smell of waxy, perfumed product – from the very few times you’ve gotten this close previously – and although you prefer the soft tangles between your fingers, knowing that Eridan wouldn’t normally leave his hair this way makes you wish you didn’t. He sighs and relaxes again, and it’s only now that you notice quite how tightly he was holding you. It’s like he’s never heard another Troll purr before.

Wait… He… He hasn’t, has he?

That thought almost cuts out your purr completely, so you quickly dismiss it. There will be plenty of time for questions later. Except maybe not that question, because you’re not sure if you’re ready to deal with all of the emotions attached to the answer yet.

Yet? Later? God you’re talking – thinking – as if you’re already Moirails or something. _Well you_ aren’t _think pan, so cut it out_.

Then you feel some vibrations that aren’t yours, and all that matters is the weak little purr that’s tearing your blood-pusher into tiny Goddamn pieces. It hitches every so often and he can’t keep a decent rhythm, like he hasn’t used it in sweeps and he’s out of practice – the worst part is that that’s probably fucking true – but it’s there, with yours, telling you that he’s at least trying to feel better. You don’t even care that he’s sea-dweller cold against your mutant-blooded skin.

You think he actually dozes off whilst you sit with him, an arm draped across your waist and his head resting on your chest. Honestly, you were expecting him to cry or something, but hey, you’re not going to complain if he just wants to sleep it off. It gives you time to think about what you’re going to do when he’s ready to talk about all of this. Will he expect you to be his Moirail now? Should you say yes if he asks? Do you _want_ to say yes? Gods know he needs a Moirail, but he also needs someone who can pay attention to him, check up on him, stop him from doing anything stupid. With all of your leader responsibilities, you just can’t do that, not for him and not for anyone.

He stirs slightly, purr renewed as he begins kneading at your shirt. You look down at the pitiful excuse for a sea Troll at your side, the way he’s barely awake but reacts so intently to your every movement, echoing even the tiniest sounds you make. The way there are tiny freckles on his skin, and lilac marks either side of his nose where his glasses sit.

You take one look at him, and decide that if he needed you, every other duty could suck your waste chute because Moirails _always_ come first.


	3. Chapter 3

TG: hey kat

TG: dude you there

TG: karkat

TG: bro

TG: okay fine

TG: ill just go spread my coolkid vibes around someone who appreciates it

CG: GOOD DECISION.

CG: NOW FUCK OFF AND STOP BOMBARDING ME WITH WHATEVER IDIOTIC SHIT YOUR PAN INCORRECTLY DEEMS SUITABLE TO SPEW FORTH FROM YOUR POKING NUBS AND INTO MY PERSONAL DIRECTION.

TG: wow

TG: i havent gotten a message like that from you in a while

TG: its almost nostalgic

CG: LOOK DAVE JUST STOP OKAY? I DON’T NEED ANY OF YOUR SHIT RIGHT NOW.

TG: why?

TG: where are you anyways

TG: i havent seen those little baby nubs of yours since the meeting this morning

TG: fuck

TG: evening

TG: ah whatever

CG: OH MY FUCKING GOD.

CG: IF YOU COULD GET INTO THE HABIT OF USING FULL SENTENCES IN YOUR MESSAGES LIKE A NORMAL GODDAMN PERSON, THAT’D BE JUST UNBELIEVABLY AWESOME.

CG: AND IF YOU MUST KNOW, I’M IN THE LAB, AND NO I WON’T TELL YOU WHERE OR WHY OR WHAT I’M DOING SO JUST PLEASE

CG: *PLEASE*

CG: LEAVE ME ALONE AND I'LL EXPLAIN LATER.

TG: well since you asked so nicely

CG: THANK YOU

CG: GOODBYE DAVE.

TG: wait

TG: you were being serious?

CG: BYE DAVE.

You sigh and put away your phone, putting it on silent so you can ignore the countless other messages that Dave will probably send you, asking for an explanation or just making up shitty, passive-aggressive raps. You’ll be glad when Sollux finally gets Trollian working again, because this ‘local network messaging system’ is such a pile of hoofbeast manure that it doesn’t even let you block people, or say you’re offline so you can’t receive messages, or see if other people are online before you message them; it’s like having a chat client where you’re always idle and can only send and receive messages. Honestly, how did the Humans end up with this as one of their primary means of non-verbal communication?

Then Eridan shifts and makes a little “mhh” noise, and you want to punch Strider in the face for disturbing him. He does look cute when he’s waking up though, all bleary eyed and blinking, like he doesn’t quite remember where he is.

“Hey.” You say, and his fins wiggle at the sound of your voice.

“Kar?” He mumbles, rubbing his eyes with one hand and using the other to prop himself up.

You instinctively reach out to steady him, trying not to seem like you’re holding on too tightly when you squeeze his arm in reassurance, “How are you feeling?”

“Been better.” He replies groggily, swaying in spite of your combined efforts to keep him upright.

You then remember that he probably can’t see and hand him back his glasses. He looks at them for a second, then slots them clumsily back onto his face

“Wwhat happened?”

Oh God. You were hoping he wouldn’t ask that. What do you even say? You need more time to think of a way to explain this to him.

“Look that doesn’t matter, we’ll talk about it later okay? You should get some more rest, you still seem kinda tired.”

He shakes his head, “Nah ‘s fine.” Then after a moment he looks right at you and says, “Thanks for bein’ here, I don’t r-remember much, but I remember h-hearin’ your v-vvoice an’-” he hiccups, sniffing back something that might have been a sob, “an’ I j-jus, I didn’t f-feel alone.” Another hiccup and this time the sob breaks through.

You’re all prepared to do the Moirail thing – shoosh him, pap him, snuggle him until he feels better – but instead of letting go and crying like a normal person, he takes deep breaths and wipes away his tears, blinking up at the ceiling as if it’ll help hold the rest of them back.

“Sorry,” He mumbles, “fuckin’ embarrassin’.”

You’re not going to lie, you feel cheated. Yes, it’s good that Eridan isn’t having a mental breakdown, but it’s not good that he’s holding everything inside when you’re more than willing to help him let it out.

You sigh and gently rub his arm, “Don’t apologise, it’s okay to cry man.”

“I don’t _wwant_ to, Amporas don’t cry an’ my name is basically all I’vve got left at this point, so I’m not about to ruin it wwith somethin’ stupid like fuckin’ cryin’.”

“Then what the fuck am I? Last night’s grubloaf?”

“Wwhat?” He tilts his head and frowns, the sort of confused little expression that’s half turned into a pout as he tries to hold himself together.

You place your hands on his shoulders, looking him square in the eyes, “You said that your name was all you had left, but you’ve got mine- me too.” Welp, you fucked that up, time to try again, “I just mean that I’m here for you, whenever and wherever, alright?”

“W-wwhat?” He repeats, his voice almost a whisper as his eyes shimmer with the threat of more tears.

Looks like you’re going to need to spell this out for him.

“I want-” No that sounds pushy, “I’ll be-” shit you can’t even trust yourself to say it without messing it up, “remember our pact?”

Eridan nods slowly.

“Well I’m enacting it, right here, right now. I-if you want, I mean.” You add as he continues to just stare blankly at you.

“You wwant,” His voice cracks so he takes a breath, clearing his throat, “You wwanna be pale wwith me?”

You nod, “Yeah, yeah I do.”

God, now _you’re_ the one who’s going to start crying. You’ve never actually confessed to anyone before, not in any quadrant, it’s just been vague hints and questions left unanswered. Sure you haven’t actually said the word yet, but saying yes is as close as you’ve ever gotten.

“Okay,” Eridan says, a few violet droplets trailing down his cheeks, “yeah.” then he actually smiles, letting out a half-sob-half-laugh as he wraps his arms around you, pulling your body tight against his.

“Shh.” You whisper, nuzzling into his chest as you knead his back gently with your claws.

You knew that Eridan was cold, not just because of his blood but from those times he would just lean on the back of your chair in the lab, resting his head on your shoulder, or when he would not-so-subtly get closer than required when you watched movies. What you didn’t expect, was how nice the cold would be, like a snuggleplane that you find in the back of your closet, one you want to warm up and cover yourself with. You wish you hadn’t protested as much, or told him that the pact had to wait or given it those stupid conditions. Yet again, past Karkat has proved just how much of a monumental fuckup he made of future Karkat’s life.

You try to go against your own advice and not cry when Eridan snivels into your shoulder, but it turns out the way he sounds when he’s upset can be just as pitiful as the way he looks. You don’t let it show though, you rub your tears into his shirt and by some miracle manage to keep your breathing halfway even, and when you squeeze him around the middle he just squeezes back. It’s not like when you were with Gamzee. He just needed paps to keep him calm, he’d hug you sometimes but by then he was too sober to really do the whole ‘dealing with emotions’ thing. You feel awful about the way your Moirailegence just sort of faded, but when Eridan’s holding on to you as if he never wants you to leave, you think it was for the better. Even if everyone else will probably tell you you’re insane. ‘ _Fuck them_ ’ you think, burying your face into the sea-dweller’s stupidly woolly scarf with a sigh.

You thought you’d be shivering by now – you can still feel the chill of his skin even through your clothes – but it’s as if your body is just taking it in, making it warm, and then giving it back. You smile, ‘ _like when you wrap yourself up in a cold_ _snuggleplane_ ’.

“Uhm so,” Eridan says after a while, “wwhen does this stop?”

Well fuck, if that isn’t the most awkward question ever.

“Whenever you want, I guess?”

And the prize for most awkward answer goes to Karkat Vantas, ladies and gentletrolls.

He ‘hmm’s into your hair, “I don’t really wwant it to, but my back is kinda crampin’ up here.”

Yeah, you hadn’t wanted to say anything but your neck is at a seriously awkward angle. You pull back slowly, still holding each other’s arms even when you’re sitting upright. Eridan winces as he arches his spine, but after a series of cracks – that sounded very painful and gave you a sudden desire to offer him a massage – he gives you a lopsided smile, his puffy eyes the only indication that he was crying. You feel your own lips curve to mirror that absurdly cute expression, ‘ _he should smile more often_ ’. Then his expression drops as a light flush tints his skin violet.

“Are you, um, am I…” He trails off and looks at the floor, his blush deepening.

“Go on." You urge him softly, placing your palm against his cheek.

His eyes flicker to yours and then away again a few times, before he finally meets your gaze long enough to ask “A-are wwe Moirails?”

Hearing him say it out loud is like every confession scene in every movie you’ve ever watched, put together and stabbed right into your blood-pusher. Stabbed in a good way though, like the arrows of those ridiculous love-babies from human folklore.

“Of course,” You bring your other hand up to cup his face, “of course we are, you wonderful idiot.”

He lets out a sharp breath, as if he was expecting you to say no. How on any planet that has ever existed could you say no? Even when he grins at you with a mouthful of killer teeth, there’s not a single inch of you that’s scared. You find yourself laugh-crying along with him as you loop your arms around his neck for another hug, your messy purrs blending into the most comforting sound you’ve ever heard. Then you compose yourselves and move back to rub your faces over each other, making sure every inch of available skin is covered with your combined scents, until you press your foreheads together and just breathe it in, purring louder and stronger with each exhale. You’ve seen Trolls randomly mark each other in movies before, just stopping what they’re doing to share their scents, and if you’re being honest, you never really understood it. In fact, you still don’t, but when you smell your own woodsy spice mixing with the ocean breeze that sticks to him even though he never goes in water, it’s like something inside clicks, like your body knows what your pan doesn’t.

“Pale for you.” You say, bumping your nose against his.

You can almost feel the giddiness in his voice as he replies, “Pale for you too.”

Actually you can feel it, your pusher is flip-flopping all over the Goddamn place and your chest is so tight you can barely breathe, whilst at the same time feeling as if it’s full of light and warmth and a whole swarm of flutterbeasts, lifting you up another inch each time you realise that this is real. You give his cheek one last nuzzle, then let yourself slip into his lap, resting your head on his shoulder as he presses his face into your hair.

“Want to make a pile?” You ask, your voice still quivering with your purr, “We’re in your block so nobody’s going to fuck it up.”

You feel him go tense, as if just being told that he’s in the lab – even in his own block – is enough to make him anxious.

Then he takes a deep breath and says, “Yeah, sure, there’s a bunch a soft shit wwe can use in that chest ovver there.”

You give him a – hopefully – reassuring chirr, then get up and wander over to the chest. It is indeed completely stuffed with plush cloth like Eridan said; mainly in the form of capes and scarves that he probably alchemised for fun. You grab as many capes as you can, including a particularly large one in case either of you want a snuggleplane, and arrange them in a heap behind Eridan, pulling him down into it when you’re done.

“Comfy enough, your highness?”

He hums thoughtfully, prodding at various clumps of fabric and smoothing his hands over the creases, “I suppose it’ll do.”

You scoff, folding your arms in mock irritation, but you only manage to hold a scowl for a few seconds, before Eridan pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. He chirps sweetly into your ear, and you reply without even thinking. You’ve always been embarrassed about making quadrant noises, but the way Eridan, the way your _Moirail_ , wiggles his fins and acts so stupid happy when you do, you can’t imagine ever wanting not to.

“Karkat?”

Was that Dave? Was that fucking Dave Strider who just ruined your moment and made Eridan almost flinch both of you off of the pile?

“Where you at, Kat?”

Holy shit, _it was_. Why can you never get a single lick of _peace_ around here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Such a fluffy chapter, I just couldn't help myself.

**Author's Note:**

> So I know I have lots of other, more important things to do, but have another fic, because I have an addiction to EriKar and I use it to de-stress by making my favourite sea-dweller sad and then having my favourite land-dweller cheer him up. *Shrug*
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this, kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> I have a Tumblr! You can ask questions about this or any of my other fics and AUs, or just pop along to say hi! http://slavetomykeyboard.tumblr.com


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